Preserve and Protect
Page 40
“‘The Panama Canal.
“‘The Suez Canal.
“‘The Dardanelles.
“‘Gibraltar.
“‘The St. Lawrence River.
“‘The Rhine River.
“‘The Danube River.’
“In pursuit of the objective of this amendment, Mr. President,” Lafe said, “and in the interests of permanent world peace, my government herewith states that it is ready to turn over to such a body, as soon as it is created by the United Nations, all rights, title, interest or control the United States may now or in future possess in the Panama Canal.
“The United States suggests, Mr. President, an immediate favorable vote on this amendment, so that the United Nations may proceed at once with the great, constructive task of placing these world waterways under world control for the benefit of all and the assurance of world peace.
“Mr. President, the United States requests that the Chair call the roll—”
But his concluding words, of course, were lost in the uproar of voices shouting for recognition and it was not until Raoul Barre managed to catch Cymru’s eye and Cymru hastily cried, “The distinguished delegate of France!” that a semblance of order began to return.
“Mr. President,” Raoul said with a certain sardonic expression as he caught Lafe’s eye and received a bland smile, “this very interesting proposal is, of course, something entirely new, and it seems to my government that it would be best to consider it quietly for a little while. Therefore, Mr. President, I propose an adjournment overnight—”
“Until Monday,” Lafe interrupted firmly; and Raoul agreed with a graceful promptitude, “Until Monday.”
“Is there objection to the motion of the distinguished Ambassador of France?” the Ambassador of Cymru asked hastily. “The Chair hears none,” he added hastily. “The Council stands adjourned until Monday, is it!” he said hastily, banging down his gavel with an air of relief.
“Is it, all right,” Cullee said to Claude Maudulayne, who managed only a distant, glacial smile as they stood up and stretched and prepared to go. “Yes, sir, you can say that again. Is it, sure enough.”
“Your Honor,” Bob Leffingwell said, still comfortably relaxed after three hours of argument, “the afternoon is getting on, now, and we have reached, as Your Honor has just pointed out, the time for rebuttal and conclusion.
“I rather regret that our pleasant discussion must now come speedily to an end, for, frankly, I have enjoyed it. It did my heart good to witness our brilliant friend across the way, Mr. George Harrison Wattersill, display the virtuosity and forensic talent that have made him a household word … in some households. (George Wattersill bowed ironically.) I was equally impressed to hear the eloquence of our other good friend, the former Governor and present National Committeeman of Oregon, the Honorable Roger P. Croy—eloquence which was not only eloquent but even, I thought, magniloquent. (Roger Croy, who had started to look pleased, looked less so.) My own—if I may use the affectionate possessive—good colleague, Senator Munson, shrewdly and astutely reinforced and buttressed and, at many points, improved upon my arguments. (Bob Munson shook his head with a humorously deprecating air.)
“But now the time has come to conclude it all.…
“Your Honor,” he said, and slowly and deliberately got to his feet, “our side has not stood during these discussions, but I think now perhaps I will, for what it may be worth in lending emphasis. I do not intend, as has Mr. Wattersill, to allow my voice to soar—and dip—and whisper—and alarm. I do not intend, as has Governor Croy, to make my voice thunder—and roll—and blast—and shrivel. Like my friend and colleague the distinguished Senate Majority Leader, I shall simply—as we have throughout—talk: on the issues and, I hope, to the point.
“Now, Your Honor, to refresh the memories of our viewers and listeners in this country and throughout the world, we are here pursuant to a temporary injunction issued by the presiding judge of the U. S. District Court for the District of Columbia, pending decision of a suit filed in the District Court that would direct the National Committee to reconvene the nominating convention which was concluded in San Francisco two weeks ago and turn over to it the task of nominating the candidate to succeed President Hudson, and a Vice Presidential candidate to run with him.
“It is our belief, Your Honor—though we have refrained from making it our contention—that the granting of this temporary injunction was irregular, unfounded and not based on the law: perhaps prompted by considerations known to the judge of the court below who handed it down, but not known to us. The justification for it, the solemnness of it, the integrity of the premise upon which it was granted, are matters for Your Honor’s wisdom to decide and his conscience to accommodate.”
(“Wowee,” the Boston Herald whispered to the Arkansas Gazette. “That ought to make old Hempstone squirm.” “That bird?” the Newark News sniffed. “He’s too dumb to know what he was doing.” “Dumb like a fox,” the Arkansas Gazette retorted. “He got some payoff. Or will. That’s for sure.”)
“Sometimes, Your Honor,” Bob Leffingwell said gently, “good politics is bad law. So our side feels it to be, in this instance.
“We also feel it to be in the instance of counsel who have spoken for the other side. We have heard a great deal about world peace and justice, and about freedom and liberty, and about which candidate can best save suffering humanity from the fate which it sometimes seems determined to bring upon itself.”
(“Does the bastard think it’s funny?” ’Gage Shelby demanded of no one in particular, slamming a fist into a palm with a bitter, frustrated gesture. “Ah, Christ!”)
“We do not say that these considerations are not valid,” Bob Leffingwell said calmly, “nor do we say that they should not weigh decisively with the National Committee when it is again permitted to proceed in an orderly fashion to do its work. But we do say that they are not pertinent to the narrow issue which confronts Your Honor: namely, whether the National Committee can be forced to choose one of the two options which it is given without restriction by its own rules.
“On this, Your Honor, we believe that our argument must stand unchallenged—because it has not been challenged. Instead, counsel opposite have wandered all over the lot of political partisanship, emotional prejudice and inflammatory intimidation, without ever once meeting head on this absolutely fundamental point.
“Meanwhile, in the world outside this little room, there has been what almost seems a conspiracy to bolster exactly these tactics; to place the whole matter on an emotional, strictly political, basis; and to create a climate in which, were we not relatively isolated here, and did Your Honor not possess such wisdom and such sense—”
(“Let’s hope he has,” Orrin remarked to the Undersecretary for Latin American Affairs.)
“—might very well have a major effect upon the atmosphere in which Your Honor must decide.
“During the fifteen-minute recess just past, which Your Honor most graciously allowed, for instance, there was thrust into my hands by several reporters outside as I was trying desperately to find a haven of relief, editions of the afternoon newspapers which carried such headlines as: SWARTHMAN CHARGES KNOX AUTHORED GAG BILL AS PART OF DICTATORSHIP DRIVE … VAN ACKERMAN”—for just a second a genuine distaste, so strong that it came across to startled millions of viewers, transformed his easy expression—“FANS DICTATOR CHARGE … UN SPEAKERS FLAY KNOX, URGE JASON AS ONLY HOPE FOR WORLD PEACE.
“I did not allow,” Bob Leffingwell said with a return of amiability, “indeed, could not allow, these intrusions to interfere with my urgent and necessary quest. Yet it was apparent, even in those brief glimpses accorded me by our friends of the waiting press, that we are everywhere surrounded by a most insistent and oppressive campaign seeking to persuade and, if you please, intimidate, both this Court and the National Committee in pursuit of your respective duties.
“Now, Your Honor, I know that you will not be swayed, as I know a majority of the
Committee will not be swayed. And therefore I think we can safely leave such arguments to the side which has originated and is encouraging them.
“We return, as we have returned frequently this afternoon, and now do for the last time, to the only issue which to us is valid as a point of law: the question of whether the court below, or this Court, or anybody anywhere, has any legal authority whatsoever to instruct the National Committee as to which of its two options, equally free and equally democratic, it must choose.
“We believe that no such directive can be given the National Committee. We believe that all arguments political—emotional—national—international—are completely invalid and completely extraneous to this one basic legal issue.
“With faith in Your Honor’s wisdom, integrity and courage, and with thanks for your infinite patience and kindness, we rest our case.”
He smiled briefly but cordially and sat down.
“Mr. Wattersill,” Tommy Davis said quietly, and democracy’s defender was on his feet.
“Yes, Your Honor,” he said briskly. “We too believe we can be brief.
“Counsel attempts here, in these final moments of this historic hearing, a hearing which a desperately concerned and worried world has been privileged to follow through the marvels of television and radio—and press,” he added hastily as the UPI cleared his throat with a significant “A-hem!”—“this historic hearing which could very likely, Your Honor, be the first step in separating the quick from the dead—counsel attempts here, in these closing moments, to once again narrow proceedings to a quibble concerning which there is, really, no argument.”
(“What’s that?” the Arkansas Gazette asked the Newark News in a startled whisper. “Keep calm,” the Boston Herald advised. “Georgie will get out of it somehow. Georgie has a plan. Georgie always has a plan.”)
“Certainly, Your Honor,” George Harrison Wattersill said reasonably, “there can be no dispute that the Committee has the option under its rules of either selecting the nominees itself or reconvening the convention. We thought that was clearly understood. We have been surprised in fact, that counsel opposite have thought it worthwhile to spend so much time this afternoon in pointless repetition. The issue has never been the Committee’s rules: it has been whether the Committee would be free to exercise its option under those rules, or whether the arbitrary and hurtful decision of a temporarily inflamed and excited majority would prevent it.”
(“Ah,” said the Arkansas Gazette. “So that was it.” “I told you,” said the Boston Herald.)
“It is to make impossible just such hasty and ill-advised action, Your Honor,” George Wattersill said earnestly, “that we on our side have contended throughout this hearing that the matter must not be left to chance. It must not be left to a capricious and uncertain impulse of a majority of the moment whether or not the Committee is to select the nominee or whether or not the convention is to select the nominee. It must not be left to the passions and the pressures which can afflict 106 men and women. Your Honor, however noble, however honest, however decent and responsible. It must be left to the great, free, open, democratic decision of the full convention, once more called together in all its solemn majesty, its libertarian dignity—”
(“Is that what we saw in San Francisco?” the AP whispered. “W-e-e-e-llll,” the UPI replied with a grin.)
“—its sober dedication—”
(“Not that!” protested the Arkansas Gazette.)
“—its profound and moving devotion to the eternal principles of this great Republic, its deep and somber realization of the importance—to all humanity—of what it does.
“That is all that we have contended, Your Honor. That is all we want. We want the great responsibility to rest, not with 106 men and women, however honorable and however worthy—and no encomiums of mine can increase what the world already knows to be their manifest integrity, their supreme competence—but with the even greater integrity and still greater competence of the great convention—to which, after all, Your Honor, all these 106 did belong and will belong again, so that their voices will by no stretch of the imagination be silenced.
“This, we think, Your Honor, is the purpose of the suit pending below, of the temporary injunction issued below, of the argument here. We submit that our only purpose and our only aim is to secure, not a narrow, limited, possibly emotional democracy of 106, but a vigorous, active, solemn, broadly based democracy of more than 1,000 drawn from all the broad reaches of this broad land, bringing to their awesome deliberations not just a handful of hearts and minds, Your Honor, but many hearts and minds to represent all the people.
“We have so argued, and we do so argue, Your Honor: not to restrict or hamper the National Committee—not to control it—not to command it—not to interfere with its free exercise of its free choice—but to help it—to encourage it—to assist it to do what mankind cries out for it to do.
“The Committee needs your protection and your strength. Your Honor. It needs this Court to free it from pressure and from fear so that it may make the truly democratic choice. ‘Help it!’ cries the nation. ‘Help it!’”—and his voice sank once more to its low, husky, nerve-tingling appeal—“‘Help it!’ cries all mankind.…
“Your Honor,” he said presently when, after a great and obvious struggle, his emotions were once more under control, “we too thank you for your patience, your kindness, your decency, your attention. Never was democracy better served by better servant than it has been served today by the Honorable—the very Honorable—Mr. Justice Davis.
“Your Honor,” George Harrison Wattersill said quietly, “we rest.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wattersill,” Tommy said with a courtesy so impersonal that no one could interpret it, though millions tried, “thank you, Mr. Leffingwell, Governor Croy, Senator Munson. Thank you, too, our friends of press, television and radio, and thank you, Mr. Marshal, the clerks, the secretaries, the official stenographers, for your patience. Thank all of you for your patience during this long, tiring afternoon.
“Thank you all, everywhere”—and for a moment he looked straight into the camera with a small, shy, somewhat hesitant smile of vague politeness and benign good will—“for your patience and attentiveness too. We hope you have received some understanding of how our democracy works. It is not very perfect, but it does work.”
(“We hope,” the Boston Herald whispered as they gathered their notes and prepared to go.)
“The Court would suggest to all the press,” Tommy said, “that it be prepared for a decision later this evening, possibly around ten p.m. in the main chamber of the Supreme Court. The Court does not feel that this matter should be delayed.
“This hearing is now concluded.”
“So what do you make of it?” the President asked half an hour later, when the Majority Leader, as requested, called from “Vagaries” where he and Dolly were entertaining Lucille Hudson, the four Knoxes and Bob Leffingwell for dinner.
“I don’t quite know,” Senator Munson said thoughtfully, “but I have the impression he’s on our side, surprisingly.”
“So do I,” Bob Leffingwell said from the extension phone in the study.
“And so do I,” the President agreed, “but of course we could always be mistaken. There’s a powerful pull in the other direction, and he’s not particularly noted for going against his political convictions.”
“More ‘social convictions,’ isn’t it?” Bob Munson suggested. “In the sense of social welfare, that is. On the whole, I think Tommy’s pretty fair-minded, at heart.” He chuckled. “And certainly he couldn’t have been more judicial today. My goodness! He did the Court proud.”
“It goes with the office, you know,” the President said. “Look at me, now, old stumbling, bumbling Bill Abbott, still got straw in his ears, still got the lead of Leadville in his pants after forty years in this town, doesn’t know which fork to use at your wife’s parties—”
“Sure, sure,” Senator Munson said.
“That’s what happened to Tommy,” Bob Leffingwell agreed. “At the moment he’s the Supreme Court of the United States, and that’s a body with a good deal of dignity, in working hours. He’s no mean Justice, when the occasion requires. He just called me a minute ago, incidentally.”
“Oh, did he,” the President said.
“Yes, we told him where we’d be in case he needed any further clarifications. He wants me to come see him at eight o’clock.”
“Before the decision. Alone?”
“Alone.”
“Do you know why?”
“I think so,” Bob Leffingwell said slowly.
“Can you tell me?” the President asked.
“Not now,” Bob Leffingwell said. “I will … I’m glad you went to Oak Hill Cemetery this afternoon,” he said, apparently without connection. The President of course got it at once but made no comment.
“Yes. I thought perhaps I should emphasize a few things just by being there.”
“Was Walter?” Senator Munson asked.
“Lots of newspaper people and a good many from the Hill, the diplomatic corps and the Green Book,” the President said. “It was a sizable funeral. Flowers only, from Walter. Big ones, but that’s all. I suppose he couldn’t face it.”
“A funny man,” Bob Leffingwell remarked.
“Hysterically,” the President said. “How are the Knoxes bearing up?”
“Feeling good,” Bob Munson said. “I think they’re slightly hysterical too from Orrin’s day of being the world’s punching-bag.”
“Relieved me of the pressure a little, anyway,” the President said with a laugh. “Give them my love. And Lucille. And Dolly. And also, Robert A. Leffingwell, give my love to Tommy, too. Tell him I think he did a magnificent job of conducting the hearing, win, lose or draw on the decision. And tell me what you can later about your mystery. She never told me all the details, poor gal. So you do it.”